Inside my head
The wheels are turning.
Not madly, not furiously,
Like the wheel of chance,
Creating misery, or joy.
No, my wheels turn more slowly
Like a Ferris wheel,
The London eye,
Moving, then pausing
To let me feed off the vista.
I see the silver ribbon
Of the river.
Pleasure boats and warships,
Side by side
Resting, on the self-same tide.
The pleasure is a fleeting thing.
White sails struck,
Now cannons roar
Preparing for impending war.
The wheel moves again,
I view the Palace of Westminster.
It's hallowed halls
Where laws are drawn,
And many lies are told.
I see your smile
And drink it in.
Believing it will slake my thirst
To leave me sated
For a while.
The smile lasts only
Until you draw,
The wheel moves again
I see the far horizon.
Should I, now turn away,
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Owain Glyn's Other Poems
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Turning by Owain Glyn )
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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